


He's My God

by Legna



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Bottom!Harry, Dom!Zayn, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Physical Abuse, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Top!Zayn, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, sub!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:51:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2665961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legna/pseuds/Legna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An awkward meeting turned into a relationship from hell. </p><p>TW: Rape, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm testing this fic out....idk.

He rules me

He controls me

I am made by him

So I am his

To the world, he’s a human being and a simple man 

To me, he’s my God

 

In the beginning, things were well. Happiness surrounded us both and our love steeped in the air like infused tea. I fell in love after the second date. Yes, it was too soon but when a person knows, then a person knows. I believe that he is the one, even though my friends disagree with me. He even disagreed with me, saying to me every night, “I’m not good for you. All I do is hurt you.”

And I say, “I still love you.”

It all started with a glance and an awkward conversation.

 

 

 

I can recall that it was Liam’s birthday and he was having a small party with less than twenty people at his house. Liam is Zayn’s best friend. They grew up together as kids and are still friends to this day, being in their mid-twenties. I knew Liam as a former classmate. He sent me an invite on Facebook, which was unusual because we didn’t talk as much. We weren’t even friends. We had worked on a few assignments together in high school, that’s it.

But he invited me. I was lonely and had nothing to do so I accepted it.

Although the party is small, it was very active and loud. Pop music blares from a couple of speakers, which I assume, are in the very back room of Liam’s house. Drinks are everywhere, the smell of Mexican catered cuisine comes from the kitchen, few people are dancing, some are drinking and most of them are chattering away. I saw Liam pouring champagne in several glasses, then places the glasses on a platter so they could be passed out to his guests. He stole a glass himself and as soon as he saw me, his face lit up like Christmas lights.

“Harry! Harry Styles! You made it! I did not think that you would actually come. Wow!” Liam gave me a glass of champagne to drink, then half-hugged me awkwardly. At least, he’s trying. All I could do was give back a smile and accept the glass.

“Happy Birthday, Liam. How does it feel to be twenty-five?”  I sipped on the bubbly alcohol, and then leaned on wall next to me, giving my undivided attention to him. He explained to me that it felt like nothing.

“It’s just another age, being older. The age that I am really scared of is forty. Impotence is a bitch, right?” He nudged me in the ribs with his elbow, chuckling because he thought he was funny. I laugh anyway; it’s his day and I have to make him feel good. I nodded my head out of agreement, almost downing the champagne.

If I have to deal with Liam’s shit, I need to be tipsy at least.

The conversation transitioned to us talking about politics, our jobs, our families and future plans. Just when we were about to talk about memories from high school, a man with dark hair and a slim figure, accidentally bumped into Liam, nearly spilling his own drink. “Shit. Sorry, Liam. I’m just a little drunk. J-just a little.” He slurs a bit and giggles, pushing his body against Liam’s. Liam couldn’t help but to put an arm around the other man and to hold him up. I thought he looked familiar but I wasn’t so sure.

At first, I concluded that they were a couple. Their chemistry is undeniable and they were very comfortable with being so close to one another. Liam shook his head from annoyance but there’s a look of fond in his eyes as well.

“Of course you are. You’re staying here with me, got it? You can’t go out and drive, Zayn.”

Zayn. I remembered then. I have seen Zayn a few times around high school. He always got in trouble and would get suspended because of disrespecting the teachers.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I’ll sleep in the guest room. I got you.” Zayn smiles stupidly then looked at me. His smile disappeared and he seemed to stop breathing. “Don’t I know you?” Zayn asked me. I wasn’t sure on how to answer his question. He doesn’t personally know me…he just seen me a few times in our former high school.

“I used to go to Linwood High.”

Zayn’s eyes became smaller as he gazes at me, trying to remember who I am. I tried hard not to laugh in his face. I can smell vodka as if he’s wearing it as cologne. “Harry Styles! Geeky Styles.” He erupted in laughter and chokes on his spit. I frowned while Liam gives a sympathetic smile.

“Let’s go to bed, Zayn. You’re done for, clearly.” Liam states as he tries to get a proper hold of Zayn. A sound of broken glass occurs in the living room area, which causes Liam to curse. “Damn it.”  I can tell that he’s having an internal fight….should he take Zayn to bed first or go to see what happened….

“Harry, you think you could take Zayn to bed for me? I have to see what’s going on in my house. The guest bedroom is upstairs, on the first right, with a flower print on the door.” He literally hands Zayn to me. Zayn struggles at first, complaining and whining that he doesn’t want to go with ‘geeky styles’. I felt utterly offended and didn’t desire to help him anyway.

“Zayn, shut up. And please, Harry?” Liam begs. Since it’s his birthday, I had to accept.

“Sure. I’ll take him upstairs.” I used my strength to pick Zayn up, throwing him over my shoulder to carry him upstairs. He isn’t heavy, thank god. He’s used to be really skinny with zero body fat. I think he might have gained just a little bit of weight but he wasn’t too heavy for me to carry. Zayn sang nonsense lyrics and flailed his arms as I walked up the stairs. I opened the first door on the right, gently kicking it wide open so I could enter.

The room is dark and I couldn’t see a thing so I patted my right hand on the wall, looking for a light switch. I finally found it and flicked it up.

“Put me down! Put me _down_. Why is…geeky styles taking me to bed? Where’s Liam?” Zayn slurs. He did a bad job at punching my back. I felt like I was attacked by a small child. I can see the bed and I immediately dropped him on the bed. I was ready to leave and I didn’t care about Zayn, nearly leaving the guest bedroom.

“Wait..Styles.” I turned around to look at him. His eyes are glossy and he’s wobbling side to side, even though he’s sitting upright. “My shoes. I can’t. I can’t sleep with my shoes on.”

I rolled my eyes, thinking that he’s ridiculous for being so dependent but he was drunk in first place so that’s a perfect excuse. I nudged the door, almost closing it and walked over to Zayn. I kneeled down on the floor, looking at his shoes. He had nice shoes. They looked like Tom Ford, so I thought. It’s as black as his hair and the leather is smooth like butter. I felt honoured to touch them, pulling one of them off and setting them on the carpet.

Meanwhile, Zayn is staring at me like I am a piece of meat. Or maybe he hates me. I couldn’t tell because I can’t read his mind.

“You look good, Styles.” It came out as so sincere, I believed it. I smiled like a flustering teenager, keeping my eyes down, staring at the expensive shoes.

“Thanks. You look good yourself. Grew a beard and whatnot.” I commented honestly. I like his facial hair and it makes him look ten times hotter. I would be lying if I said he didn’t look attractive because he really, really does. It’s just the inside of him…..that is unattractive.

“No, you…you look...” It seems like Zayn can’t find the right word so I finally looked up at him, giving him a clear visual of my face. “Beautiful.”

 

 

The abuse started from that point. I was a blind idiot, getting floored by a compliment. My mind started to change about him because I had believed that maybe, just maybe, Zayn Malik wasn’t a douchebag. I believed that he was nice. I believed that he liked me. So I started to like him and as soon as I liked him, _that_ was the moment I had stepped in hell.

The champagne I consumed before, were coursing through my veins and I was a little braver. Looking at Zayn for more than ten seconds can do things to a person’s mind and hormones.

I desired to kiss him.

Zayn, on the other hand, desired my body.

“Come here.” He grabbed the collar of my shirt, trying to pull me up from the floor. Although, I was confused for a moment then I automatically assumed that we were going to finally make out. _Just a drunken kiss_ , my idiotic brain thought. I moved to the center of the bed then Zayn straddles himself on top of me, which was unexpected. I relaxed anyway and had let him be on top of me. I thought he was going to kiss me but instead he tries to unbutton my pants so he could pull them down.

“Zayn, wait. I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I mean, we just officially met tonight and I don’t know you well enough and you’re drunk. You’ll regret this in the morning, I know it.”

 

Zayn stops and stares at me again, with a different look this time. I can’t read it still so I wait for his response. He leans closer to me, balling up his hands into fists then placed them on the mattress on both sides of my body. His face is an inch away from my face as I lie down on my back. I feel like I’m backed into a corner somehow and I can’t escape.

The smell of vodka hits my nostrils and I’m trying not to gag as he spoke. “I’m going to fuck you and you will like it, whether you want to or not.”

I scoffed in his face. “Yeah, right. Get off of me, Zayn.”

Zayn doesn’t move or say nothing. He smirks down at me, leaning closer. His lips attaches to my throat, giving a gentle kiss. “If you wanted me to get off of you…” He kisses on another spot of my neck, making me shudder with no intent. “You would’ve pushed me off but you didn’t. You’re a strong guy, aren’t you, Styles?” He chuckles maliciously, adjusting his head to look at me again. “You want it….don’t deny it. You want me. I want you. Let’s just submit…to our needs.” His fingers caress the left side of my face and I can see him staring at my lips. An exhale is forced out of my mouth from shock because I realized that I hadn’t pushed him off yet.

Why aren’t I pushing him off? He is smaller than me. I have more muscle mass and I am taller. Why am I not pushing him off at this very moment?

“You want it and you know it.” He says to me as the fingers that once touched my face as comfort, creeps down to the zipper of my pants, pulling down the metal teeth. He’s trying to work faster at getting my pants off.

I felt like crying because I feel guilty, idiotic and not in control. Knowing that I have the ability and the will to stop this yet I’m not doing it..

It makes me feel bad deep inside and I lost all power.

“Zayn, I don’t want to do this. You're drunk.”

He kisses me suddenly and urgently, probably to shut me up. He doesn’t want to hear any begging, pleading or resistance. It’s obvious that he’s fighting me with the usage of seduction. The moment his lips touched mines, my perception of reality has distorted. His lips were soft, tasting of alcohol. He kisses with most of his bottom lip, sucking on my top lip while he holds my body down with the weight of his own body. My eyes start to close and I begin to imagine that I am, at least, about to be loved to from a caring person. Strands of his hair falls on my eyelids, tickling my eyelashes as well. Then I have the urge to run my fingers through his hair and I make the decision to do it anyway.

Zayn breaks the kiss to laugh at me. “See? I knew you were into it. You just have to relax.” He pulls down my pants along with my boxers, then struggles to take my shoes off. Once they finally came off, he came back up to kiss me again, kissing me harder and sloppier as if he’s desperate to get off. He takes his own pants off, throwing them off to the side of the bed.

He grinds his hips slowly against me, testing how I would react. My eyes fluttered back to closed and I groaned from the contact of the warmth from his skin on mines. He continues grinding, moving at a faster pace. I can feel him breathing hotly in my ear, creating disgusting moisture. I don’t want this….and I do want this.

“Harry, you’re so hot and sexy tonight. I’m glad I got you under me right now, fuck..” He kisses all over my ear, leaving spit and bites on my earlobe then bites down on my neck, which hurts very much. I yanked my head away so he could get the signal to stop.

But he doesn’t.

His teeth are sharp and could cut skin easily if he wants to. He bites on the skin of my jaw and chin and I shrieked from the pain. “Zayn, stop! Ouch!”  He stops, finally, to look at me disapprovingly. I spent fifteen seconds staring back in this man’s eyes and I see nothing but lust and hatred combined. The pupils are wide enough to be indicated as a high and they’re so glossy, one would have thought that he was crying.

He sucks a finger in his mouth then takes it out. I didn’t expect that finger to go near my asshole and it hurts because he didn’t lube it enough. Immediately, my body tenses and my asshole is trying to push his finger out. It’s instinct but he doesn’t realizes that.

“Don’t fucking fight me, Harry.”

“You’re too rough!” I retorted.

He laughs again, taking the semi-wet finger out of me. “You thought that was rough? I’ll show you _rough._ ” And just like that, he pushes the tip of his dick in me, bottoming out somehow without proper lube or prep.

Nothing feels like this. No pain can compare except for mental disintegration. I can’t even scream. My mouth is open but nothing comes out. The only things that comes out is a gasp and a tear sliding down my face and onto a pillow. He’s busy groaning and moaning, fucking me at a slow pace, literally dragging his cock in and out of me. I can see the enjoyment in his face; biting his own lips, eyes closed and a smirk slowly appearing as he mumbles a “fuck yes”.

“Zayn…please… _stop_. It hurts. It hurts!” I sobs and informs to him. That seemed to make him angrier. He lifts my legs up, forcing them against my chest so he could fuck me deeper. “Stop! No! STOP!” He doesn’t even attempt to hit my prostate to make it better. I need some sort of pleasure and I am not getting any. “ZAYN! PLEASE STOP HURTING ME!”

He stops thrusting and opens his eyes, leaning his face back to mines. Zayn’s dark eyes scans my facial expression and I was too afraid to make eye contact. I’m sure that he is looking at the bite marks on my face, the drying tears, the saliva at the sides of my mouth from yelling and crying, the flushed cheeks and all. He’s staring at my vulnerability.

And he says, “Harry, believe me. The only person hurting you is yourself.”


	2. Worship In The Bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is triggered by rape, don't read pls :( I guess it's quite explicit?

_1:32 A.M._

I arrived at the party around 9 p.m yet I’m still stuck in the guest bedroom, lying on my back with my thighs pressed against Zayn’s chest and my legs rested on Zayn’s shoulders. He just fell asleep a few minutes ago and his snores rumbles to my ears, keeping me alert. I can imagine what I look like at this point; bloodshot eyes and tears on my face, slobber near my mouth and red, bruised skin. I’m a physical mess and Zayn is content, appearing as an angel as he sleeps. I notice how long his eyelashes are; they rest on his high cheekbones. His mouth is slightly open, exhaling gentle breaths that stinks of stale alcohol. The smell of it doesn’t bother me anymore, considering the fact that he has spent the past three hours breathing in my face while fucking me and teasing me brutally.

_*Few hours earlier*_

_“YOU are hurting me, Zayn! Zayn, stop. Just stop. I want you to stop. It hurts too much. It really…I think I’m bleeding. Zayn, I’m bleeding, aren’t I? I have to go to the hospital!”_

_“A little blood doesn’t hurt anybody.”_ Zayn grunts, impaling me over and over as my body remained tense, struggling to find some pleasure out of this experience. At that point, there was no hint of lubrication except for his precum leaking out inside of me and a trickle of liquid flowing out, which I believe is my blood. “ _You want to feel better, Styles?”_

“ _YES_.” I screeched as my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I reacted, jerking my body up when he placed a hand around my dick, stroking upward. I didn’t realize that I was hard in the first place because of all of the pain that I was experiencing; I assumed that it wouldn’t induce an erection.

 _“Look at you…_ ” He laughs quietly. “ _You look like a submissive, little bitch for me. And you like it, don’t you?”_

_“I don’t!”_

Of course I didn’t like the pain, the venomous words, and the mistreatment. I would have liked the lingering caresses, meaningful kisses and sweet nothings whispered in my ear. I would have enjoyed thoughtful glances instead of condescending stares. A fantasy of mine is being able to hold Zayn’s hands as he lies on top, thrusting at a pace that works for the both of us to achieve pleasurable orgasms while our lips are connected and our tongues are meeting. His smaller hips grind against mines as his cock slides inside me with the proper amount of lube and the help of preparation. Our bodies moving in sync as I moans his name, encouraging him to go faster.

Harder.

And deeper.

And touch me in ways that I have never been touched before. Not only that he would enjoy it, but I would enjoy it too. How badly I wanted that fantasy, was at a high extent.

“ _I’m begging you, Zayn.”_ I pleaded again, speaking in a softer tone, which was a mistake because he won’t take me seriously.

 _“Just.”_ He gave me one hard thrust. _“Shut.”_ Then another. _“Up.”_ He then continues fucking me, making the entire bed shake. _“And fucking take it. Shut up and take it. Goodness.”_ He finally hits my prostate while he still worked on getting me off. The pain turns to pleasure and I began to moan more instead of crying and screaming. It was all a blur as I came and my come spurted across my chest.

“ _Argh, fuck!”_ I exclaimed.

 I didn’t come much; only two spurts including a tiny leftover leaking out and down my shaft. It softens very quickly and the pain returns. Orgasms doesn’t last too long for an average man, unfortunately.

“ _You good now, Styles? Are you done bitching?”_ He asked without stopping his thrusts. “ _Huh? Answer me. You good?”_

_“No. I want you to stop.”_

_“Not until I come. Make me come, baby and I promise that we’ll be done.”_ He positioned to kneeling on his knees and straightens his back upright, grasping my legs and holds them up in a wide V with his hands so I won’t be able to close my legs or to move away from him. It hurt like hell to keep my legs up this way and my muscles weren’t stretched properly. I can feel the burn in my inner thighs taunting at me, but it makes it easier to ignore the pain from my asshole.

“ _Zayn…”_

 _“That’s it…keeping saying my name.”_ He looks down at me with those same eyes, waiting for me to comply. I refused to make him feel good but I really desired for him to stop putting me through this terrible experience.

“ _Please, Zayn…I can’t take it anymore. I want to go home.”_

His eyelids hides those darks eyes and his mouth opens a bit, showing slight teeth and tongue, as grunts and groans were forced out of him vocally. Tiny veins can be seen in his neck and forehead and he seems to have the breath knocked out of him.

_“Oh fucking hell. Oh…”_

 It was an utterly sexy moment to see, as if I’m in a homemade movie. Zayn has the looks for it. He has the looks for a runway or a photoshoot. He has the looks for making a straight man questions his own sexuality. Zayn have the looks for making one to feel insecure…because he is absolutely beautiful. I realize this, simply by viewing his orgasm, caused by me and I love it and I hate it at the same time.

I was an idiot for believing that he would stop because after he came inside of me, he waited a few seconds to calm himself down before going for a second round. At least, this was different. It was slower and less erratic. I was sure that he has worn himself out; the alcohol in his system is catching up to him.

 _“Mm….you make me feel good, Styles. Who woulda thought?”_ He leans down, placing my legs around his waist so he could kiss me again. Before I let him, I spoke my thoughts, unafraid of how he would react. “ _Who would’ve thought I’d be raped by you_?”

He stopped to look in my eyes, and for a moment, I saw guilt in his eyes. I can see that he’s thinking about what he’s doing and how much he doesn’t want to feel remorse about it. I hoped that, at least, he would finally stop.

His frown changed to a small smile. “ _The most unlikely things always happen, huh?”_ He chuckles, laughing in my face. As he explains the reason for his actions, he kisses my throat and chin from time to time, making me cringe. “ _If anything, you should feel lucky that I put my dick in you. You were a fuckin’ loser in school. You didn’t talk much. You allowed people to take advantage of you and they walked all over you, like your life purpose were to be the pavement.  You’re weak.  You are below me, literally and metaphorically. So…you wonder why I’m doing this? Harry Styles doesn’t have a motherfucking backbone.”_

I didn’t cry melodramatically but a few tears came out after he said that. I didn’t cry because they came out as hurtful. I cried because he was right.

 

 

After the words spoken from Zayn’s mouth, the weak person that I am with the lack of a backbone, allowed him to fuck me over…and over…and over. The pain became numb to me and all I could feel is the creaking of my bones from the constant and repetitive movements, being fucked back and forth. I could feel the firm mattress beneath me, sinking deeper because of my weight, including Zayn's. I hear labored breathing of my own. Sometimes, Zayn expresses a simple sigh from exhaustion or he would breathe harshly as if he’s going into a panic attack, depending on the pace he desire at a given moment. My throat felt dry from begging verbally and I gave up speaking after the first hour. I only moan from slight pleasure if I could get any or i would groan and winces from the pain, which was most of the time.

The moment he finally asleep, I cried tears of joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic would pretty much consist of a toxic relationship/abuse and legal injustice. If anyone wants me to continue, let me know.


	3. Battling Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has an internal conflict. Does he win or lose?

I still lie on the mattress and after Zayn fell asleep, I waited a few minutes so he could go into a deeper sleep; just enough for me to escape from under him and to leave. He’s still inside of me with his arms and legs sprawled out and his head rests besides my head on a thick and long, white pillow. His snoring is becoming louder and the muscles in his body are completely relaxed, which gives me the signal to go now. It took me about forty-five seconds to unwrap my legs off Zayn’s back without tickling his skin or disturbing him really. The sheets and comforter makes sounds of scratching as I stretch my legs, flattening them on the mattress and I prayed that it doesn’t wake him. He’s still asleep, barely moving actually.

The next challenge is moving him away from me without disturbing him.

I take a deep breath, preparing by sneaking my hands between us and placing them on his chest. He mumbles a few words and I froze, staring straight at him. Since he hasn’t opened his eyelids, I concluded that he talks in his sleep and I can relax and continue with my plan to leave. Doing something like this feels as if I’m taking a big risk. I never felt so nervous; I almost feel rebellious. It’s like…I’m not allowed to leave.

It’s funny to feel this way because I don’t belong to Zayn. I don’t know him. I don’t love him. He raped me and took away my power, humiliating me with intent yet…I could have simply pushed him off with force, not caring if his sleep is disturbed. I could have gained my power back by actually waking him up and to punch him in the face or to kick him in his stomach, beating him down a bloody pulp and to fight for justice.

I could have done all of that.

Instead, my nerves are getting to me and I’m hoping that he won’t wake up because I have no idea on what he is capable of. All I know is that he is capable of is using my body, hurting me physically and emotionally, as well as possessing the ability to make me afraid.

The muscles in my arms flex as I gently and slowly pushes at Zayn’s chest, lifting him up. I hold him up while I attempts to pull off of his dick. It’s so painful that I didn’t want to move anyway. I can feel that my asshole is swollen and irritated. But thankfully, there’s enough come and blood to help me slide off easily. I held in a scream as I move my hips back and I feel his dick pulling out, suctioning off with a squishy pop sound.

“Ah…fuck.” I muttered under my breath, exhaling sharply from the intense stinging. My tolerance for physical pain is low and I am very embarrassed to cry more tears. The process of leaving seems to have so many parts to it and it gets harder than the last. Of course, the next part is to ignore the pain in my body while standing fully and to dress myself. I never stopped looking at the sleeping Zayn on the queen sized and tainted bed. He still sleeps peacefully with a face that disguises as innocence. His head is turned to the right as he sleeps on his stomach and his body is sort of awkward, half nude and tanned. So I didn’t dare to take my eyes off of him while I let my hands search for my pants and underwear. They weren’t too far away from the bed, only a few inches.

I made a decision to be bold. My eyes left him and looked down so I could properly put on my bottom clothing, one leg at a time, pulling them up. I thought I did it quickly and with ease. After that simple task, I could just leave.

The evening has diminished. The nightmare is over.

My back is turned to him and I walked to the door and within seconds, my right hand is on the door knob, ready to be pulled so I could open the door to my freedom. A sleepy voice spoken and I don’t breathe anymore.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

_Fuck.._

I looked back at him without making eye contact. “I’m going home to clean up. Then I’m going to the hospital to see the state of my body.” I said it as straightforward as I could, hoping that he’ll understand what he did to me; the pain he caused and the fear he embedded in my mindset. I looked in his eyes once again, with expectations of viewing sympathy or perhaps any type of compunction.

Our eyes met and I am sure that he can see the hurt in mines but what I see in his eyes….I see a sadness; an silent expression of his bind thoughts and prospects. For some reason, I wonder what he is thinking and what would be his next plan. Will he get up and attack me? Will he leave me alone? Is he going to tell anyone about this?

 “If you wanna go, then go. I’m not going to stop you.” He states as he lies on his side, positioning his body to talk to me. “You can go.” He said that as if he’s giving me orders; like he controls me. I took that as an offense, not hiding my anger through my face.

“Gladly.” I spat out. He held his hand up, literally asking for permission to speak again.

“But I wish that, um…I wish you stayed under me.”

“Why? So you could take advantage of me all over again? Use me like a toy? You’re a piece of shit, Zayn.” I have so much more to say. So many swears to express and the volume of my voice wishes to increase but I’m not a fighter. I don’t lose myself due to anger or rage. I am not the one to ‘snap’ and I’m sure that my defense came out lacking of strength. The proof to that is Zayn’s small laughter erupting from his chest, vibrating through the room. He laughs at my words and I feel smaller, despite my size.

Then he frowned as he looks up at the ceiling, changing his position by lying on his back now and his arms are fixated upward with his hands behind his head. “I don’t like sleeping alone.”

Would I be an idiot to feel sympathetic for my rapist….just because he gets lonely? What kind of person would I be to get the sudden urge to drop my plans, take off my clothes, go over to the bed and to crawl in bed with him, cuddling him until he sleep again so that he’ll have someone by his side?

I would be an idiot, right?

“You don’t need _me_. You can have someone else. I’ll get Liam for you.”

“No, don’t. I want you instead. It’s you, Harry. I want you by my side right now.” He confessed and my stomach flutters. “But like I said, you don’t have to stay. You can go if you want.” He closes his eyes but he isn’t sleeping yet. He’s either waiting for me…or waiting for his own anxiety to kick in. It’s up to me on what he gets the next minute; my warm body or his loss.

 

 

Zayn doesn’t lose, due to my actions. I made a choice to stay because for a moment, I had connected with Zayn and I understood him. From my personal experiences, I never liked sleeping alone either. After high school, I met a man named Isaiah and I fell in love with him. We stayed in a relationship throughout my college years. Since dating him, I have never gone through a night sleeping alone but then he cheated, leaving me for a better looking and small twink. After the unexpected break-up, I started to spend nights tossing and turning, becoming an insomniac. I cried myself to sleep and dry humped my pillows numerous times. My mental stability was going down for a while.

Sleeping alone wasn’t pleasant but it got better with time. The point is, I understood where Zayn was coming from and if he were to go through what I went through, then I would rather volunteer to stay by his side. No one ever deserves to sleep alone.

 

 

I kept my clothes on but took off my shoes. Zayn gazes at me as I took cautious steps towards the bed. I sat down first then swung my legs on the bed, lying next to Zayn. I turn my body to him, lying on my side yet he still lies on his back. It wasn’t intentional but one of my arms wraps around his waist, pulling him closer to me.

_I’m an idiot, cuddling with my rapist._

My thoughts and conscience goes away when Zayn looked at me in the eyes and a tear fell out and down his cheek. He snuggles closer to me, and before he fell asleep, he mumbled a few endearing words.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry should have left, am I right?


	4. Settle Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weird morning after..
> 
> And the universality of ignorance..

I never planned to fall asleep but sleeping next to Zayn was so comfortable. The feel of arms wrapped around me for closeness, gives me a warm feeling in my core. The presence of another person is just pure comfort, especially if one is a sucker for physical contact/affection.

The sun is rising and the light of the burning star peeks through the thick blinds on a window that’s embedded on a wall above us and behind the bed. I opened my eyes to see that Zayn is still sleeping. My mind is half alert and part of me is believes that I am dreaming. I want to get up but sleep is pulling me back in and it is becoming harder to be fully conscious. Considering the fact that I did not get the proper amount of sleep during the night, I don’t blame myself for closing my eyes and snuggling closer to Zayn.

 

 

 

I wake up to wet kisses all over my face and the smell of rancid morning breath. It’s nice and disgusting at the same time but also unexpected. I thought a dog was kissing me.

“Good mornin’ Styles. Gon’ be a sloth today?”

Another voice says, “God, I hope not. I got shit to do and I can’t take care of both of you nor I’m leaving you two alone in my house. Y’all probably fucked all night and you’ll fuck again.” Liam is leaning against a dresser at the other side of the room, sipping on a hot beverage from a brown mug with his initials on it. He’s dressed in casual clothes, wearing a short sleeved, solid beige tee and dark jeans. Even though his tone was patronizing and bitter, he is looking at me and Zayn with curiosity, obviously questioning the dynamic between Zayn and I.

Zayn still lies next to me, smiling and acting as if he didn’t do anything wrong.

“Got along well last night? I didn’t think that you two would even look at each other.” Liam added; he looks at me then at Zayn and goes and forth for some seconds. “But I could see it. Yeah, you guys could fit. Both good-looking, smart, quiet and all…”

I said the first thing that came to my mind after Liam shared his thoughts. “Were you trying to set us up?”

Liam makes a perplexed face, pouting his lips. “No! ‘course not. I only asked you to get this dickhead to bed, not to _take_ him to bed.”

“He sure did take me. Thanks, Liam. I’m starting to like him.” Zayn chimed in, smirking in a way that makes him come off as an asshole. I consider telling Liam the truth about his best friend but part of me would hate to ruin their friendship. What would happen if Liam found out about Zayn? They’ve been friends for years and I don’t want to be the reason why Liam would begin to hate him.

“What about you, Harry? You like Zayn yet? He _likes_ you.” Liam is giddy, nearly spilling his drink from shaking his arms excitedly like a child. His small teeth shows as he smiles widely. If one is to see Liam being joyful, one can become trapped and they can never say no or deny his request…or most of all, tell the awful truth.

I answered his question while glaring at the dark haired man besides me. “Yeah, I like him.”

 

 

Liam spent five minutes admiring the view of Zayn showing physical affection toward me, and was overly-elated about the fact that he may have accidentally created a potential relationship. He made hints that weren’t too subtle, about dates and such. Zayn verbally agreed to anything that Liam suggested and I, on the other hand, just nodded and smiled, going along with the bullshit.

Then he left the room to give us privacy and he also gave us a warning that we have to get the hell of his house.

It’s quiet and awkward, for me. For Zayn, it’s probably comical bliss.

His hand creeps to my body, caressing my right hip. My shirt is slightly lifted up and so my tattoos are visible. He views them, tracing them with his index finger. “That was noble of you. You didn’t fight back, you didn’t leave, and you didn’t tell him shit. So you must really like me then, huh?”

“Settle down. You’re aren’t that special.” I retorted coldly.

“Be honest, Harry. Despite the fact that you’re weak, you also like me.”

This is a moment that I hate because once again, he’s right. I could only hope that this act would be discontinued so I could move on and Zayn can do whatever he pleases, to anyone he want. I don’t want to be that ‘anyone’.

“I owe you though. We should follow through with Liam’s ideas and I’ll take you out. How’s that sound? Just go on one date with me and you don’t have to be worried about anything and you don’t have to be scared of me. We can hang out and we’ll have a good time. Liam would be ecstatic. His self-esteem would blow through the roof.”

“Since when am I supposed to please Liam? I’m not even his friend.”

“Well, you are now.” Zayn’s smile disappears, and I can feel his eyes on me, although I am not looking at him; I refuse to. He added before he leaves me, exiting the room, “And of course, you’re not pleasing Liam. You’re pleasing me.”

 

 

 

 

My nerves are getting the best of me as I stepped inside of a local police station. It’s quiet and tense instead of hectic and dramatic like I had expected. There’s two officers standing behind a giant desk, being obviously busy doing paperwork. Another officer is on the phone, arguing and slamming his fist on the wall. I approach an older, overweight officer with white hair and a stern face. As soon as he looked at me, he gave a small smile.

“I’m Officer Morrison. What can I do for you, son?”

“Uh. I was assaulted last night so…I want to like, press charges or something like that.”

He nodded, understanding what I meant then he pulled out a piece of paper. “And what’s your name, son?

“Harry Styles.”

He scribbles my name out quickly, looking down at the paper. Then he looked up, asking for more information. “What’s the name of your attacker and how, when and where did they attack you? Do you have any proof for injury?”

“Um. Zayn Malik. It was a friend’s house, in the wee hours of the morning. It started from around 9 and he kept going…he raped me.” I whispered the last words, feeling nothing but shame. “I can’t really _show_ my proof now, can I?” I chuckle, trying to lighten up the conversation.

“Excuse me? You said ‘rape’? Another man raped you?” He seemed so shocked, like he can’t believe that it’s a thing that happened. I nodded, widening my eyes.

“Yes…he assaulted me, sexually.”

“Is this a friend of yours? Or stranger?”

“Neither. I know him but not like that.”

He just nods, giving me a strange look. It’s like he wants to ask a certain question but he doesn’t want to go too far. “Mr. Styles, are you a homosexual or a heterosexual?”

“Er, I’m gay. But why does that matter?”

Officer Morrison writes something on the paper, which I can’t tell how it could be relevant by the answer I just gave.

“Is Zayn Malik a homosexual or a heterosexual?”

“He’s gay, I’m guessing. I’m pretty sure he is. But sir, what does that have to do with anything? He attacked me and hurt me and I deserve justice.”

The officer laughs; he laughs in my face, nearly cackling. He went from a helpful, gentle man of the law to a disgusting and ignorant pig. “Son, since you two are gay men, it sounds like to me that there had to be some sort of consent. Besides, _men_ don’t get _raped_.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe his words and I have never heard anything like this. “Just because I’m a man doesn’t mean I can’t get raped? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Son, watch your tone. Remember who you’re talking to and where you’re at. Now, if you would like to give a full description of the….attack.” He giggles, saying that word. “Then I might be able to help you but I can’t guarantee charges to be pressed and an arrest to be made.”

I want to rip my hair out and I want this officer to go to hell. Frustration and anger fills me; I’m angry from last night, I’m angry from this morning and I’m angry about this wrinkled and pasty asshole telling me that men can’t get raped. Even though I am angry and there is so much on my mind, I don’t fight back.

“Never mind. Just forget it. Have a good day.”

The officer shrugged his shoulders as I walked away and out of the station.

 

 


	5. Rollercoaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry riding the ride of Zayn that is pain and pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've concluded that I will update every weekend. Either saturday or sunday.
> 
> Depending on feedback.

For the first time of my life, I realized that bad people do exist; people with bred minds of wrongdoings and internal hate. Zayn proved that to me. Officer Morrison proved that as well. It’s amazing how it only takes a few people to change my attitude about everything, to deepen my insecurities and to make me feel less than a human.

All my life, I’ve been quiet. I had a quiet childhood. I had quiet nights. I have a quiet job. Among the crowds, I am nothing but just a host of what could be but never will be.

 

 

After the humiliating encounter with Officer Morrison, I sat in my car, still parked in the front parking lot of the police station and I cried loud, embarrassing tears. I became angrier, punching a fist three times at my steering wheel, causing the horn to blare a few times.

“Fucking, fuck…fuckin’ asshole! FUCK HIM!” I screamed out and it feels like my lungs are on fire and adrenaline is rushing throughout my body. Punching something felt good enough for me to calm down. I noticed that another officer was sitting in his own car, staring at me and questioning my behavior. As much as I wanted to give him the middle finger, I didn’t, due to rational reasons and I started my car, driving off to my home. While I’m driving, my cell phone buzzes repeatedly every two minutes, indicating either a text or notification of Facebook.

When I came to a stoplight, I took the chance to look at my phone and unlocks the screen with a numeric pin password. All I can see is Liam’s name and I look at his texts.

_2:03p.m Liam: So excited for u and Zayn! U didnt really fuck him last night, did u_

_2:05p.m Liam: It’s ok if you did. Times have changed._

_2:08p.m Liam: I fufked on the 1 st date once…it was nice and sloppy_

_2:11p.m Liam: Anyway dont break zayns heart pls. he’s a nice guy with a big heart and his last relationship fuckd him up. He seem to adore u tho_

 

 

Don’t break his heart? What about mine? What about my well-being? Then I reminded myself that Liam doesn’t know me that well so who knows what he could be assuming about me. He knows Zayn and stayed close with him for years….but I wonder if he knows that Zayn is a cold-hearted rapist?

There wasn’t enough time for me to text back after reading them so I continued driving when the light turned green. I can’t think about anything except Zayn, Liam and the officer. I thought about Zayn the most; daydreaming of him being a sweet and nice guy, asking me out on a proper date then he would show up, dressed handsomely and smelling of musky cologne. First, he would apologize for what he did to me, begging on his knees for my forgiveness. He would cry tears and his head would bow down.

_Please, Harry. Forgive me. I can’t go on if you don’t forgive me._

He would treat me like a king; he’s living for me as if I am his air, his water and all of vital supplies. I would forgive him, and then pull him up to kiss him. Then we’ll be happy.

My thoughts had distracted me to the point where I slightly drove off onto the other lane and were about to hit a car. “Oh shit!” I exclaimed, quickly turning the wheel to get back on the right side of the road and I blushed out of embarrassment. My heart is racing because holy fuck, I almost died just from thinking about Zayn. Literally, Zayn was going to be the death of me.

 

 

I considered going to the hospital or a clinic so I could check out my body but I changed my mind. It was possible for an officer of the law to laugh at my rape situation. It could be possible for a doctor to do the same. And I rather not go through that again.

So I drive straight to home, keeping my mind alert and my hands on the wheel. Ten minutes later, I pull up in the driveway and parks on the side of my house, which isn’t too big or small but just right for a single guy with no kids or partner.

After re-reading Liam’s texts, I laugh, realizing that he can actually be funny. I sent a text back then stuffed the phone in my pants’ pocket.

_I would never break his heart. You can count on me. x_

 

 

 

My eyes becomes wet and I couldn’t help wincing and screeching when removing my clothes and to sit in the tub full of hot water and soap. At first, I started with my shirt, peeling it off of my arms and pulls it up over my head. I can see the purple, the red and some blue. I can see small uneven lines of dried blood and crusts of whites, which would be Zayn’s slobber. The unusual colors covers my neck, my throat and chest. Looking in the bathroom mirror, I frown at the bruises, not daring to touch them. I take my pants off but left them on the floor, and then I tossed the shirt in the hamper. The lower part of my body is good except…

 

I look down at my underwear and my fingers slides between the material and my skin, slowly pulling it down from the hem. I noticed a small, dried patch of blood and a tiny pool of fresh blood in the middle of the patch.

I’m still bleeding. I wish to pass out but I can’t. I have to clean myself up. I have to be strong.

“Fuck you, Zayn...” I whispered as I stepped in the tub and sat down as gently as possible. A scream almost came out of my mouth when I felt an intense stinging from my asshole but I pushed through the pain, knowing that it will go away eventually. A few minutes passes and my body is relaxing, savoring the warmth of the water and I feel so much better, physically and mentally; as if the water is cleaning up my issues and emotional distress.

 

My ears can hear distinct vibration. I opened my eyes, breaking out of the relaxation that the water had put me in. I noticed that my pants are still on the floor. I stretched my body to reach my pants so I could check my phone. I assumed that it is Liam calling me but I was wrong.

Seeing an unfamiliar number made me nervous. It has the area code but it’s strange regardless. I pushed the answer button anyway and answered.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey, Babe. It’s Zayn. What are you up to? I hope you don’t mind but Liam gave me your number_.”

I reacted, immediately sitting up in the tub and the water swished to the sides. “No…oh. I’m going to kill Liam. The last thing I want is _you_ having my number. God.” I’m throwing a mild child tantrum, splashing the water with my other hand.

“ _Chill out. I’m not gon’ harass you or anything. Just wanted to talk to you_.”

Somehow, that did make me feel a little better; although, I don’t believe him. It’s up to Zayn to prove me wrong.

“So…what do you want to talk about?” I asked nonchalantly, sliding back down the tub and the water meets at my neck.

“ _You didn’t answer my question though. What are you up to_?”

I sighed, not really wanting to be honest but I hate being dishonest. “Taking a bath, washing off your sins and shit.”

It was quiet for a moment then I heard a pained groan. I rolled my eyes because it’s obvious on what Zayn is thinking about. “ _Oh, yeah? You’re naked right now_?”

“Anyway…why did you call me? What do you want, Zayn?”

 

 

 

“ _I was just thinking about you. Thought about you after you left….still thinking about you now…so I asked Liam for your number. I called you and I wanted you to know…that I’m thinking about you_.”

Zayn’s tone made him sound like a hallmark card and I nearly got a high from the sweetness of it. I’m believing what he says, since he sounded so genuine. I’m torn between holding a grudge and forgiving him instantly. Because he thought about me and he continues to think about me.

To know that I was thought of, feels lovely and my self-esteem is going up. I’m no longer recognizing the tears I cried, the pain I felt and the humiliation inflicted upon me. Due to my state of mind, the bruises are already magically disappearing and my skin has return to normal, even though it’s not. I remember the moment that I began to like Zayn….that moment he gave me a compliment and said that I was beautiful. That feeling I had then, comes back tenfold now….

All because he is thinking about me.

“Really? You mean that?”

“ _I do mean it, Harry. I don’t know why but you stuck on me_.”

I laughed quietly, noticing something new and surprising from Zayn. “You called me ‘Harry’. I guess you do mean it then.”

“ _Of course, I do. Speaking of meaning things, we should stick to Liam’s suggestions, when he said that you and I should go out. And if you’re not too busy tomorrow night, I would like to take you out. I could show you a few things and we can have some dinner._ ”

“That’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to it.” I just did something that I never thought I would do. I smiled. I’m actually excited to go on a date with Zayn. The toes on my feet are wiggling about, causing the water to move. My other hand moves to my stomach, right above my crotch. I didn’t mean to; it just happened.

“ _Still in the bath_?”

“Yes.”

“ _All this time_?”

“Yes, Zayn.”

I can hear him mumble a “fuck” then shuffling sounds. “ _Think about this. You and I, making up and letting go of the bad thoughts and feelings. You moving on from the negative things while I undress you down slowly, starting with the pants. Then the shirt. You shudder as I kiss you, and I hold you close to me like I will never let you go_.”

My cock twitches inadvertently but I like what he’s saying. He’s saying all of the words that I want to hear….yet I’m blind and slightly horny to realize that he may or may not mean it.

“ _Goodness, Harry. I could kiss you forever. I won’t forget the feel of your lips on mines….so soft. I want you so badly right now. I don’t want you to get mad at me but I’m stroking myself off right now, thinking of you. Can you do me a favor? Please, pretty please?”_

“What is it?” I held my breath then exhaled when he finally responded.

“ _Have an orgasm on the phone…now. Do it now. Touch yourself. Do whatever it takes to make yourself come_. _Moan, scream, curse, anything….I want to hear it all_.”

As far as I know and not to Zayn’s knowledge, I never masturbated before. I always got off to friction and thoughts but I never touched myself. My hand always lay on my stomach but it didn’t dare to cross that line; that hairy line.

“Zayn, I…I can’t. I don’t…”

“ _Harry, baby. Please. You can do it. All you have to do is think of me, listen to my voice and follow my instructions_.” It’s like he _knows_. And if he does, then how?

“Okay.” The hand that’s holding the phone, shakes and my other hand is relaxed.

“ _Use the hand that you have available and imagine that hand as mine. It’s my hand, you understand?_ ”

“Yes, Zayn.”

“ _It’s my hand…and I’m touching your face, bringing a finger down from your side of your eye to your chin.”_ I did what he said, using my left hand to caress my own face, pretending that it is Zayn doing it instead. Doing this gives me that delicious tingle in my spine and my skin wants to jump off of my bones. “Oh.” It wasn’t a moan but it was a long sigh and I’m sure that he heard it.

“ _My hand goes down to your neck then to your chest. Two of my fingers touches one of your nipples_.” I did that too; closing my eyes and my mouth opens while I roll the little pink bud between my fingers, releasing a small moan. “ _Squeeze it a little…rub it. I would give anything right now to suck on them._ ” I start visualizing Zayn’s lips forming a little ‘o’, sucking hard on my right nipple. He would include a little teeth but do it gently as possible.

“ _Then my hand goes lower…appreciating every bump of your stomach and the ink on your skin_. _The butterfly, those leaves you have.”_

I opened my eyes a little, peeking at my tattoos. I smiled after he said that because I love my tattoos and I had got bullied for them. So, to hear him say that he would appreciate them, gave me butterflies in my stomach. I do what he says though, moving my hand from my nipple down to my stomach, admiring the abs I worked out for. I tease myself by tickling a tiny trail of hair that begins below my belly button.

“ _Now…lower_.”

The hand goes lower.

“ _Slowly. Don’t rush.”_

My breathing is becoming faster and harder; I feel lightheaded. It doesn’t stop me from going lower like he commanded. The fingers and palm sneaks at a painfully, anticipating slow pace; five seconds later, my hand is on my pubic hair, feeling every tiny, trimmed curl.

“ _My hand is wrapping around your dick, stroking up and down….over and over. And I whisper to you that I want you. I want you to come on me. come in my hand, come all over. Become a mess_.”

For the first time, I’m masturbating, thanks to Zayn and I am enjoying each second of it. I never moaned like I am before. I never felt these kind of physical statics and the squeeze on my cock is undeniably great; my hand is quite large and I almost cover it. It helps a lot and I began fucking my fist. ”Uh…oh, god, Zayn.” I closed my eyes again, lying my head on the edge of the tub, listening to Zayn’s extra orders; he’s just so filthy and I’m losing it.

“ _Come for me_.”

“ _Go faster_.”

“ _Imagine me sucking you off_.”

“ _Imagine coming in my mouth_.”

Water spills out of the tub as I fuck my fist faster, while moving my fist, trying keep up the pace. Every muscle in my body becomes tense; my chest is red and at this point, the water is no longer warm. I stretched my legs out and my feet are place flatly against the wall of the tub. I opened my eyes to see everything that I am doing and the messes I am making. My balls tenses every few seconds and my jaw clenches.

“Ugh, fuckkk…fucking hell.” Come shot out into the water, floating about. Some are at the top and most of it is spreading out. It’s disgusting, lying in a cold and dirty bath with my own come but I didn’t mind because I just had the best orgasm due to Zayn.

“ _You good now?”_ Zayn sounds satisfied and I had assumed that he got off as well, listening to me having an orgasm.

“Yeah, I’m great now. Feeling much better…what about you?”

“ _I got off too_.” He chuckles and I smile, oblivious and blissed. “ _I got off, knowing that you’re so fucking obedient; you’ll do whatever I say. I say jump, you say how high. Amazing. Just amazing_.”

His tone changed and my smile disappeared. “Are you serious, Zayn? Are you really serious?”

“ _See you tomorrow night_.” Then he hung up. I looked at my phone, confused and hurt, throwing it at the wall. The phone comes apart; and pieces of it are scattered all over the floor. I don’t care if it broke. My feelings are too hurt to care.

Zayn Malik had brought me up…only to bring me down.


	6. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Zayn's first (pressured) date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I write the next chapter, I would love to know everyone's favorite quote from any of these chapters so far..

I spent the rest of the day and night sulking and staring at the bruises on my skin. Luckily, it’s Saturday and I don’t have to work today so I was lazy majority of the time and I had to force myself to eat and drink water. I also felt very anxious about the date. Since Zayn toyed with me, I had changed my mind about actually going. It would be stupid to go on a date with a guy who had raped me and damn sure doesn’t care about me.

My phone is put back together several hours later after my bath and I turned it on, just to check if I had any messages. After a few seconds of powering on, a notification of text messages shows up on the left corner of the screen. My thumb swiped down from the top of the screen and I can see names of a co-associate, Liam then a random number, which I assume is Zayn’s. I didn’t get the chance to save it.

I didn’t bother to read Zayn’s.

_6:34 p.m Nick: Let’s go out for drinks next weekend! Got some news to share_

_8:07p.m Liam: Just heard about ur deate w/ zayn :D omg gud luck_

I can see a preview of Zayn’s message and it started with…

_What’s your…_

I want to ignore it but at the same time, I am tempted to see what he had texted to me. I gave in to my temptation and opened his message.

_8:45p.m +16149482002 : What’s your address? So I can pick you up._

It’s bad enough that he has my number and I definitely do not want Zayn to have my home address. There’s that possibility of him becoming a stalker and I have no desire of my home being watched during the night or monitored by an unsuspecting and hidden camera. He could send strange items via mail or attempt to break in and enter. Who knows what Zayn might be capable of?

I quickly texted back.

_10:12p.m I’m not giving it to you. And I’m not going on a date with you. You’re still a piece of shit._

He replied back in an instant, the vibration of my phone nearly scared me.

_10:13p.m +16149482002 : Stop playing games, harry_

_10:13p.m +16149482002 : Since you want to act like a child and you won’t give me your address then just meet me at the World Of Art Museum around 7 in the gold lobby. I hope you show up._

I didn’t bother to reply because the conversation inadvertently ended there. Lying in bed with nothing but underwear and socks on, I thought of nothing but Zayn. Even though the television was displaying one of my favourite sitcoms, I didn’t care about watching it. I had turned the AC up too high and my bedroom feels like the outside of winter. I was too deep in thought and lazy to turn it off.

If I continue to think about him, I’m pretty sure that I will dream about Zayn.

 

****

 

It’s the day of the date and I am torn between showing up and not showing up. I started my day with a small cup of coffee, using the instant medium roast and added a few tablespoons of fat-free hazelnut creamer with no sugar. It’s a warm morning due to the sun and I felt comfortable enough to walk out to the balcony, still half nude. Since I didn’t respond to either Liam or Nick last night, I sat down on a vintage chair on the balcony outside out of my house with my hand still clasped to my coffee and the other hand dialing Liam.

Liam answered his phone instantaneously. I may not be able to see him but I can feel his smile when he greeted me.

_“Hey, Harry! How’s it going? Are you excited about the date tonight?”_

I barely laughed but smiled at his tone of voice. “Good morning, Liam. And honestly, I could care less about going on a date with your friend.”

 _“Say what?”_ Liam’s tone changed to discouraged and I held in my breath, prepared to listen to a sad and disappointed Liam’s lecture. He shattered my expectations when he said, “ _It’s okay. I mean, you don’t have to go. You can choose to date or not to date. The least you could do is let Zayn know that you’re not showing up. It sorta makes me sad that you won’t go, knowing how much Zayn likes you. He won’t shut up about you.._.”

“Right.” I nodded, despite the fact that Liam couldn’t physically see me. Thanks to Liam, I feel guilty. It’s almost if Liam is really good at passive aggression; he is probably not trying to be but he’s naturally that way. “I might…I might go. I don’t know.” I regret saying that as soon as it came out of my mouth and onto the speaker of my cell phone. I can feel Liam’s smile again.

“ _Great! Perfect! I already know where you’re going so you should dress up a bit. Just a suggestion_.” Liam did a giggle and it shot at my heart. The pressure to go on this date is pretty much tenfold. I have the urge to throw my coffee cup out in the street.

“Thanks. Got any tips though? Just in case we run out of things to talk about.” I began to take a sip of my coffee, waiting for an answer.

He responded so calmly, I thought he was going to mention the weather or politics. “ _Favorite sex toys and what positions you enjoy. Create a safeword.”_

Then I spat out my coffee.

 

****

 

For two hours, I had difficulty choosing a proper outfit to wear for the date but I settled with a black jeans and a black jacket with gold trims cover a dark gray shirt. Wearing gray suede boots seems like a good idea as well as pulling my hair back into a ponytail and adding a little gel to make it look slick. It doesn’t look too casual or too fancy; just right for an evening at a popular and classy museum. Before I left, I did some research on the museum, finding out that it opened almost two years ago. The building is close to seven hundred-thousand square feet. It’s one of the most popular museums and buildings in the downtown. Art were collected from all over the world and it was quite expensive to buy a ticket in order to view the arts. Even the mayor and other local politicians had dinner parties booked at the museum.

I wonder why Zayn would choose such a place for a simple date.

 

 

The distance between the museum and my house weren’t too far, luckily; probably almost seven miles apart. I listened to jazz music while driving so my nerves would calm down. My heart began to thump harder in my chest when I parked in a nearby parking lot on the west side of museum. I noticed that there aren’t many cars parked in the lot. The museum closes at nine yet it is almost seven o’clock in the evening. I shrugged it off and got out of my car, literally shaking my body so I won’t feel so nervous. Walking from the lot to the front of the building, the gates were open and the inside of the building is brightly lit. As soon as I walked inside, I can see why Zayn chose this place for our date. It is absolutely beautiful and calling it the ‘golden’ lobby is an understatement. Majority of the room is gold with specks of silver and black. One would think that it’s a room resembling royalty of a third world country. Nostalgic music plays in the background from unseen speakers, which is capable to putting me in a dream-like state, becoming lost in such an alluring visual of the lobby. A large and circular chandelier hangs from the middle of the ceiling and the bulbs are bright enough to blind me but still beautiful to look at, shining through the wide and transparent crystals. The floor is built in marble with specks of gold. Every inch of the wall has some sort of texture with  golden sculptures of angels and renaissance figures.

Then there’s a doorway that could lead to viewing the arts. Zayn is standing in that doorway, holding two glasses of golden and bubbly liquid. He’s wearing a clean and sharp, fitting suit. He wears gaudy sterling silver rings on his fingers; it can distract the eyes if he were to speak with his hands. He also wears a smile that’s so wide, it’s influential to make me smile…throwing out all of the negative feelings I had about him and making me forget all of the horrible things that he did to me so far.

His hair is down and loose and a few strands are in front of his face, next to his left eye. He looks so good and so handsome; a part of me wants to get down to my knees to praise his looks. Then I had to mentally slap myself as a reminder that Zayn Malik is still a piece of shit. Just because a man looks like an angel, doesn’t mean he is one.

“You showed up.” He walks toward me, handing one of the champagne glasses to me. I took it, thanking him.

“I had to. Liam pressured me.” I said as I rolled my eyes. Zayn’s laughter echoes throughout the lobby while I took a light sip of the champagne. He took a sip too, looking at me the entire time. It’s as if he’s trying very, very hard to seduce me…to get me where he wants me to be.

“We have to thank him then, don’t we? If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have you with me tonight.”

I pulled a baffled face, scoffing at his words. “Me? Why would you want to have me?”

He tilts his head, still smiling that smile that could make my heart skip a beat. “I think you’re special, Harry. Maybe, you just don’t know it yet.” He turns his back to me and began walking through the doorway. “Come and follow me. I have some things to show you.”

So I follow behind him and my eyes attempts to scan everything that there is on the walls and on the floor. There are so many paintings and sculptures to review and it’s definitely hard to keep up. I have a question in mind, being curious to ask Zayn.

“Are we the only people in here? There’s not many people here.”

Zayn looks back at me to explain. “Yep. I reserved the museum for us only….so we could get some privacy.”

My eyebrows furrowed and my mouth is left open. “What? Wouldn’t that cost you or something? Like, you didn’t have to do that…for me.” I sounded so insecure at the end of that sentence; I want to crawl in a dark hole and never come out for sounding like such a mundane person.

“Babe, I own this museum. It’s alright, really.” He assures to me, his smirk oozing confidence.

And I thought to myself, holy shit, Zayn is wealthy and that would explain his behavior; his need to act as powerful and dominant; his need to control me. Or he could be lying….he probably pulled a few strings to get this place reserved for us. I can’t conclude either theory automatically; although I wish I could. It would help me _figure_ out Zayn Malik and what he wants from me.

 

Zayn shared to me that the museums has five floors. The last floor would be the basement. The first floor would consist of conference rooms, a ballroom and cocktail room. The rest of the floors have different sections of art and each ranges from culture, style and materials used. First, he showed me sculptures from earlier centuries to the present time on the second floor, explaining the artist’s symbolism for each sculpture. I could barely remember all the names that he listed. On the third floor, he showed me modern paintings of watercolor, acrylic and some were supposedly created from human blood. On the fourth floor, he showed me drawings that had such realistic details of a woman’s body and child’s eyes. Some of them displayed obvious emotions and some of them were confusing to me, making it harder for me to understand the meaning behind them.

He then told me, “That’s the way of art. It could mean something or it doesn’t have to. It can be a person’s escape from life or it could make or break a person’s career. In my opinion, art is everything.”

 

After spending a good hour and a half, walking around the museum, listening to Zayn’s words and viewing almost every piece of art, I was exhausted and famished. The champagne is gone and my head feels fuzzy. In order to get to the other floors, we traveled via elevator.

I’m standing on one side of the elevator while Zayn stood on the opposite side. We both stared at each other, not paying attention to the classical music playing or the movement of the elevator going up. He’s giving me the same look that he gave me before he raped me at Liam’s house. This makes me wonder what he has planned on the final floor of the museum. His hazel eyes starts at the top of my head then gradually down to my face, my upper body, my lower body then back up to my face automatically. He licks his bottom lip, blinking slowly as if he’s sending a message: _I want you here and now_. It’s like he’s undressing me in his head and I stand in such an awkward pose, feeling vulnerable; even though in reality, I am fully clothed and I have my space from Zayn. The elevator stops and a ding sound goes off as the door opens for us to enter the highest floor of the building.

Zayn gestures, pointing one of his arms at the open entry. “After you, good sir.” He says in a funny voice, attempting to make me laugh. It almost worked. I didn’t laugh but I smiled; suddenly, I wasn’t too nervous anymore to go out first before him.

I step out of the elevator to view a small table covered with an ivory tablecloth and candles lit on top. Two men in professional attire are standing by the table with bottles of wine in their hands, waiting to serve Zayn and I.

“I hope you don’t mind a little candle-light dinner.” Zayn whispered in my ear from behind. His breath made me shudder because I didn’t expect it. Overall, I was surprised. I’m being swept off of my feet.

He walks ahead of me to pull out a chair for me to sit on and I happily sat down, moving my chair forward so I can be closer to the table. Then he sat down on the other chair, once again being on the opposite side of where I am.

“Red or white?” One of the waiters asks, presenting the wines to me.

Before I chose, I had to ask, “Depends on what we’re having?”

The waiter smiles at me as he answers my question. “Filet mignon, sir.”

“Then red. Red wine….goes well with red meat.” Both waiters and Zayn chuckles from that, even though I wasn’t trying to be funny.

The waiter opens the bottle of red wine. “Very good, sir. You have good taste.” He pours the wine in my glass then in Zayn’s glass while the other waiter disappears to another room connected to the ballroom that we’re in. The other waiter finally reappears, pushing a cart with two large metal domes on top. He picked up a dome and placed it on front of me then repeated the same action with Zayn. The first waiter removed the covers, revealing our meals: filet mignon with mushrooms, mashed potatoes and steamed veggies. They are plated so neatly, it felt unlawful to eat the food but I was too hungry to care.

“Enjoy. And if there’s anything you need, let me know by ringing the bell.” The first waiter said before walking away. It’s just Zayn and I, in darkness except for dim lights and the candles lit. The concept of the room is open and wide. The ceiling is basically a giant window, allowing us to view the night sky.

“What do you think?” Zayn asks, leaning forward the table.

“I think you want me to forget about that night. Doing all of this isn’t going to make me forget.” I got started on cutting my meat in small pieces so it would be easy for me to consume. Zayn does the same but he continues the hostile conversation.

“No shit. But that’s not the only reason, babe.”

I looked up at him, already disappointed and hurt again at his attitude . “Then what? Seeking some eye candy? Or a permanent fuck toy? God, I could imagine…”

Zayn suddenly slams a fist on the table, making it shake and leaves me in shock. “Damn it, Harry. Because I _genuinely_ like you! I am literally _trying_ to impress you with all of this bullshit! And I want your forgiveness, okay? I’m just…” He drops his utensils, folding his hands together and breaks eye contact with me so he could gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did and you didn’t...” He looks at me, taking a deep breath. “You didn’t need that to happen to you. No one needs that…ever.”

“My forgiveness?” My voice cracks then I cleared my throat to push away my embarrassment.

He nods as his eyes soften. “Yes. I’m asking you to forget….and to forgive. Please?”

 

It took me thirty seconds to decide. Anticipation had built up then my mouth opens again, giving Zayn what he wanted.

“I forgive you.”

 

He sighed a breath of relief, smiling again. “Thank you. Really, thank you, Harry.” His hand held mines on the table, squeezing gently while rubbing a thumb on the back of my hand. “Care for a dance?” He asks.

It was unexpected for him to suggest that but I nodded, already getting up from the chair. Zayn rang the bell and one of the waiters shows up a moment later.

“Yes, sir?”

“Pierre, play some romantic music for me and Mr. Styles to dance to.”

Pierre bows his head and disappears in the other room. Pretty soon, I can hear a slow and smooth jazz song playing loud enough. Zayn stood and took one of my hands to hold while he placed the other hand on my back. He wants to lead but I don’t mind.

We dance, mostly swaying side to side in a rotational motion, matching the rhythm of the song. Our eyes locked are in each other’s as our hips got closer and arousal sneakily rose in my core. I have one last question to ask before I completely fall for the other guy on the fucking first date.

“Why _me_? Why do you like me? What do you want with me?”

We stopped dancing but stayed close to one another, his hand still on my back and my hand on his shoulder. There’s barely a gap between our hips. He’s practically breathing in my face.

“Like I said earlier...Harry, you’re something special. I think you’re going to change my life….and I’m going to change yours. The only thing I want from you….is you. Only you.”

And in this moment, I fell. I was Alice. His words was the tunnel. Zayn was wonderland.


	7. Two Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date ends..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add another chapter so soon because I missed the update last weekend. Prepare for angst and crazy ass Zayn and shit.

The dance with Zayn was intimate, the dinner was excellent and satisfying and getting to know more of Zayn helped me like him more as a person. Knowing his artistic side; the way he speaks about art and being involved in projects, helping with kids and charities; he seemed so passionate about it.

As much as I wanted for this date to not end, it had to, being so close to midnight. Zayn walked with me to my car, holding my hand with a wide smile on his face. He’s so giddy so I had to ask what were on his mind.

“This night was a lot of fun, you know? I like spending time with you.” He shares, swinging our hands together as we walked through the parking lot to my sedan car. I agreed with him, feeling exhilarated from such a beautiful date yet a little drunk from the wine I drank.

“Me too. I would love to do it again. I guess this is the part where we plan the second date.” We stop walking and stood in front of my car. Zayn wraps his arms around my waist and I’m brave enough to put my arms over his shoulders and around his neck. There’s no doubt that from a distance of another person’s point of view, we probably look like a couple in love. I had a hard time paying attention to what Zayn had just said, talking about another location for a second date and such because I’m looking at his lips and wishes to kiss them.

“We could do it simpler, you know? A movie, some food and do manly things….like watch a game and some beer.” He suggested, shrugging his shoulders because he knows that the idea actually sounds ridiculous. I don’t mind alcohol but I hate beer. Football and soccer are the only sports that I can tolerate. Overall, I’m game for it so I nodded as a response, mumbling a ‘mhm’ as well.

Zayn looks down at my lips, speaking his thoughts. “And I think this is the part where we kiss.”

I licked my lips in preparation, feeling a flutter in my stomach when he said the word ‘kiss’. “Right.” I agreed quietly, moving closer to his face. He closed the gap between us and pressed his lips against mines, than placed one of his hands on the back of my neck to bring me in closer.

The kiss is sweet, tasting of the red wine that we both consumed. The kiss is slow; we’re taking our time to savor one another and to remember just how soft our lips feel together. The kiss gets deeper and a bit filthier; our tongues met and Zayn began sucking on mine. I let out a moan, pressing up against his body.

The thing is, if we were naked by now, we would definitely be fucking on the hood of my car.

 

Unfortunately, Zayn breaks the kiss, chuckling afterwards. I can feel the heat in my cheeks because I’m blushing from both arousal and agitation.

“I believe this is the part where we get in our cars and I follow you to your house so we can…you know.”

Yes, I want to get intimate with Zayn and to continue the evening but I am not ready to bring him to my house. Perhaps after the third date, it could happen but I’m not comfortable yet to bring in my space of comfort, my space of vulnerability and where I live my life half of the time.

I stuttered at first, trying to find the best way to deny his request. “Uh-um. I don’t know. I mean, we can try that some other time. Like, not tonight just yet but...in the future? Yeah.”

Zayn lets go of me, looking confused from my answer. “What? What do you mean?”

I shrugged my shoulders yet I’m very confused at his reaction. “I don’t want to do _that_ tonight. Inviting you to my home…I’m not ready for that. I hope you can understand. It’s nothing personal, you know…I just. I’m not ready.”

He scoffed, looking down as he plays with his hair and combs his fingers through it. “You’re not being funny, are you? What’s wrong with going to your place and having a fuck? I mean, it’s not even. I can’t even.” He doesn’t look at me anymore, backing away from me further. I lost touch of him physically and I’m about to lose him again.

“I did _all_ of this shit for you and you want to tell me that I can’t even go to your fucking house? Fuck, Harry. Did I just waste my time with you? Did I waste my fucking time? I could have made some fucking money tonight and allowed customers to view the arts but no, instead, I had to shut it down _for you_ and I spent some fucking hundreds of dollars on a two-bit dinner and some bullshit wine for your ungrateful ass, trying to show you things that you probably have never discovered before. I tried to give you a nice and lovely date, making you feel special. Now I can’t go to your FUCKING HOUSE?!”

 

I didn’t expect for Zayn to snap so easily at such a small thing. It’s not even an issue. It’s a matter of what I want and how I want it. Since it didn’t go _his_ way, he changed his entire attitude.

It scared me as well; my eyes widening and my body trembles, my mind wondering if he’ll blow up worse than he is doing now. My body jumped when he yelled those last two words of his rant. I said nothing, being too scared to respond anyway.

He laughs, constantly rubbing his face with his hands then he finally looked at me with a blank yet angered expression. “You know what, Harry? Just get in your car and go home. I don’t want to see your face again.” He began walking away and left me in the bitter cold of a night that was going so well that just ended on an unpleasant note.


	8. Return of the Dick

Although, I had a feeling that Zayn and I are definitely over and he directly told me that he did not want to see me again, I still did what he told me to do: to get in my car and to go home. I should have walked after him and punched him right in the face. Instead, I followed his orders…as usual. I walked with wobbly knees to driver’s side of the car, struggling to find the key. He left me angry and embarrassed and I am using everything in my power to not break down and cry in the middle of a parking lot. As soon as I got in my car and turned on the engine, I broke.

Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s all of the emotions that I have experienced and it’s coming back, overwhelming me once again. Maybe I didn’t really forgive him. I only told him what he wanted to hear and pretended to forgive him.

I feel livid at him for getting upset in the first place. Then I feel angry ay myself for rejecting him because I wanted him as bad as he wanted me. I feel one way and another way at the same time and it’s fucking me up.

Who is really at fault here?

Despite the fresh tears falling down on my face and the internal heat from alcohol and anger mixed together and burning inside, I kept my concentration on traffic so I can avoid an accident. It wasn’t easy to focus since it’s dark, the lights are more blinding and signs are harder to read.

I said a thankful prayer to my god and Jesus Christ for arriving home safely without having to get pulled over or worse, causing an accident of any sort. Then I got out of the car, stumbling as I walk to the front door of my house. As I inserted my key in the lock, a car slows down driving and slowly pulls up in my driveway behind my own car. I looked back, facing bright lights. I can’t see what the car exactly looks like but it has the body of a Chrysler or Phantom. The lights are shut off and the sound of the engine declines. A man gets out of the car and begins walking towards me.

“Zayn?” I can see him clearly now, not sure on how to react that he is actually here. “You…you followed me?”

He nodded with an expression of guilt on his face. “Just wanted to make sure that you made it home safely. You did have some wine….a little too much and…I don’t know. I was concerned.”

 

Zayn Malik has followed me home, just to make sure that I was safe….even though he blew up at me and told me that he didn’t want to see me again. Shock is an understatement as to how I feel.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re right…I didn’t have to.” He responded in a cold voice, the anger is still fresh. It discouraged me, making me look down as if I’m a dog getting a scolding from its owner. “But I wanted to.”

That made me look back up at him with a small smile. He’s smiling as well and his eyes soften; he’s giving an apology but he’s just not saying it out loud. He’s walking closer to me swiftly, with his hands inside of his pants’ pockets and his eyes are scanning my body. “I wanted to follow you, Harry.”

His face is a few inches away from mines. The height difference is obvious. My eyes are above his forehead but despite his height, he could take me down easily. I know that he can and he knows it too.

“Why did you follow me when you told me that you didn’t want to see me again?”

“Because clearly…I give a fuck about you. I still want you. The fact that you were being hardheaded wouldn’t change that.” It’s amazing on how Zayn’s tone can seem so endearing yet his words are harsh as scratches on delicate skin. I believe it is a skill that he has mastered well. “Are you still going to be hardheaded?” He asks, grabbing one of my hands in the process of both of us making up.

“Depends.” I say, smirking. “Are you still going to be a dick?”

He smirks in return, giving my hand a squeeze, which hurts a bit then he moves my hand down to the front of his pants, placing my palm on his crotch. “No, but I can give you this dick.”


	9. I've Got No Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's losing again..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been hesitant about continuing to write this fic because of a few negative feedback. I really want to finish this and I have already written future chapters....I just don't want to get backlash.

My eyelids fluttered and my heart pounded, feeling that similar intensity of arousal from making out with Zayn in the parking lot earlier. He mentions sex again, despite the fact that we have already sealed the deal without my full consent at Liam’s house. There’s no need to rush into intimacy if his intention were to woo me and date me.

“Zayn, I can’t. You know, if you actually like me like you said you do, then you wouldn’t pressure me into this. You can’t force it. You may have been able to force it that night at Liam’s but…but this is different. If you really want me, you have to respect my wishes and I’m just not ready to bring you into my home.” I stated this to him as he gazes at me with a blank expression. The more I spoke, the more bothered he seems. His eyes begin to squint and his jaws clenches visually. It doesn’t scare me; it just worries me.

He flicks one of his hands at me, rolling his eyes. “Nonsense, Harry. You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying.”

I’m sure that I had just showed an offended looking face. “What? No. I’m not drunk. I only had like, two glasses of wine. I am _fine._ ”

“Baby, believe me. You’re drunk. It was more than two glasses.” He insisted although I am very positive that I had only two glasses of the red wine. “And you know what? It’s okay because it would explain why you’re being silly. Obviously, you’re not thinking straight so you know what I’m going to do? Since you can’t think straight enough, you know, you can’t think for yourself and of course, you wouldn’t make such wise decisions, how about I think for you and make your decisions for you?” His smile is wicked, as if he’s certain that he’d convinced me enough to agree to his own terms. I might be feeling fuzzy and tipsy but I am not drunk and I am aware of what Zayn is trying to pursue. He wants my body again. He wants to use me and to treat me like one of his toys.

The fuzziness in my head and the arousal combined, is messing with my judgment and I almost gave consent. “Zayn…I’m not.” I almost stutter. “I know what you’re doing and I can’t do it with you. Just please, let me get in my house.” He sigh, taking my hand and lead me to my front door. I resisted for a moment then he yanked me, forcing me to walk willingly along with him.

“Don’t fight, Harry. I am not in the mood for that.”

“Well, I’m not in the mood for you going into my house!” I retorted as I retracted my hand back. “Go home and leave me alone, Zayn.” I walk past him, accidentally bumping his chest with my shoulder, and he stumbled backwards. My key is already inside of the lock but I didn’t get the chance to turn it yet. I turn the key, creating a clicking sound. I was hoping to get inside immediately so that I could slam the door in Zayn’s face and he would feel humiliated and distressed like I did. Instead, two hands pushes on my back, making my entire body fall forward. The impact of fall was brutal on my knees and hands; I couldn’t help but to moan and whine from the stinging pain, forming my body into a ball on the hardwood floor of my foyer.

Zayn walks inside of my house then closes the door. He’s looking down at me as he takes off his jacket, throwing it on the floor and his voice is cold again. “You should know better than to talk to me like that. And pushing me like that? You’ll get pushed back too, babe. It’s an eye for an eye.”

The pain takes a moment to subside but I am able to move around, basically crawling backwards while Zayn comes closer to me.

“Where are you going, Harry?”

“Get _out_ of my _house_!”

“No.”

He reaches down and grasps the collars of my shirt, then uses little strength to pull me up to stand. I’m barely standing but wobbling on my feet as Zayn held me up. I tried to avoid eye contact but failed and saw the same darkness just like the few nights ago. The darkness is back and I cannot escape. Somehow, I had expectations that Zayn were only planning to either kiss me right now or to scold me even more. Instead of doing those, he pull and threw my body at the nearest wall, pinning me against it. My bones on my back hurt from hitting the drywall but not as badly as my knees.

“Let me explain to you what's going to happen from this point on, Harry. It’s all so simple and crystal clear. Are you listening?” He asks with his face a few centimeters from mines; I can feel his breath on my face. I nodded without saying anything. “Good. The thing is, if you keep fighting me, resisting me, pushing me away and any sort of action that would prevent me from getting to you, you will hurt yourself over and over, physically…and mentally. Get it? You fight? You get hurt.” He pauses after that, only to observe my face. “Stop fighting me…and you won’t get hurt. I’ll keep you safe and I’ll take care of you. I’ll treat you how I believe you deserve to be treated…okay?”

A very contemplation later, I gave up and said okay. He finally releases his grip on me, placing his hands on my face. We share a kiss that started off as slow and confusing, especially to me. It becomes dirtier every second; the arousal is still there and it is getting stronger. I’m sure that Zayn is hard and I am as well, eager to get off somehow.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He asks after breaking the kiss suddenly.

“Down the hall.” I answered, licking my lips to memorize his taste. He gives me a quick smooch before demanding a request, which I cannot definitely fight against. I want to fight…but I rather get off than to get hurt.

“Harry, take me there.”


	10. I Want You To Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to say thank you for the support and the amazing feedback. I feel so lucky to have you guys to be so interested in this fic. Like...I do a happy dance every time someone says something so sweet and positive. 
> 
> I'm also sorry for the wait. Sometimes, life can get in the way.

 Put yourself in my position: half-drunk, horny and willing to fuck a gorgeous man in front of you. Yet, the man’s personality is a bit…off. Sometimes, he’s sweet and sometimes, he is harsh. The best parts of this man are everything one has ever wanted in a man, you know? He’s generous, thoughtful, has a great smile and an alluring aura. The worst parts of the man are everything you wouldn’t dream of wanting from the man you yearn for. He's controlling, manipulative, mean, prone to throwing low-blows, and is capable of putting one through physical pain. Let’s not forget that the man had took a piece of you without feeling genuine remorse…he raped you.

 

 

Zayn is all, put into one personality and I’ve spent little time weighing the pros and cons of who he is, and also wondering if he’s worth dealing with. My pride, my self-respect, my control of my body and my safety are in jeopardy; they all could be thrown out the window if I give one thing...consent.

“Are you going to take me there, Harry?” He asks again, in a gentler tone of voice, rubbing his thumbs on the cheekbones of my face.

I deceive myself and took a risk, from fear but also in high hopes that Zayn will be nicer this time of sharing intimacy. “Yeah. Yes.” He isn’t frowning anymore and I can see a layer of gloss on his eyes; Zayn looks like the happiest man on earth. If not happy, then most likely that ‘satisfied’ is the term.

Zayn removes his hands from my face and steps backward, allowing me to breathe. My heart is pounding again because I am aware of what’s going to happen next. The closer I get to my bedroom, the more anxious I become. I’m hoping that I won’t have a heart attack by the time I have my hand on the doorknob. Zayn is behind me, with his hands on my waist and he closes the gap between me and him. He’s silently encouraging me to "let him in", saying commands such as “don’t be afraid” and “just do it” and ended the pep talk with “we’ll have fun and you’ll like it this time” and I internally prayed that I would.

 

My bedroom is entirely dark since the lights are off but I know where everything is. I automatically flicked the switch up, giving Zayn the chance to see what my bedroom look like. I would like to think that it is simple yet elegant, consisting of a black and white scheme with hints of red and gold. My queen-bed with a matte black headboard fixates against the wall and in the middle of the room. My walls are of an ivory color and are nearly covered with black and white renaissance paintings and vintage prints of the inanimate objects from earlier decades. One would say that this bedroom probably belongs to a pretentious art snob.

“I like it. Love it, actually.” Zayn comments as he walks forward and does a 360 degree turn to observe my room. “You have candles?

I nodded yes, already guessing that he’s trying to be romantic.

“Then go get ‘em.” He commanded…instead of asking nicely. But whatever.

I keep my candles in a linen closet, which is located in the hallway and next door to my bedroom, I always keep candles, just in case if my lights were to be turned off due to unpaid bills or an unexpected local electrical technicality. Mainly, I keep candles because they smell lovely and they are therapeutic.

I leave the bedroom, making a left turn then stopped in front of a door that were a few feet away. Zayn wasn’t specific on how many candles that he wanted so I picked four small candles and a lighter. I have so many but I want to burn the right candles so the combination of all of them could smell amazing. Two of them have a scent of honeysuckle and blueberry. The other two smells of lemon, orange and mango. I carry two candles in each hand, walking back to my bedroom to see Zayn without his dress shirt. His shoes are off but his pants are still on. He has his hair pulled back and tied in a small ponytail. I nearly dropped the candles but my hands managed to hold onto the wax-filled circular glasses. He’s in a dominant stance, staring back at me then he looks down, noticing the candles.

“The candles, Harry.” He reminds me as he smirk. Getting undressed so quickly was planned obviously, only to tease me and to encourage me into consent.

“Oh, right. Sure.” I walked over to my nightstand, placing two candles on top. I can hear a scuffling sound, assuming that Zayn is coming closer to me behind my back as I press down on the lighter’s button. A small flame finally comes to life, giving me the opportunity to burn the candles. I walked over to my dresser, which is across the room and placed the other candles on it, repeating the same process.

The candles are lit and somehow, the ceiling light of my bedroom is turned off. Thanks to Zayn, it’s fairly dim in my room with plenty of shadows. It begins to smell fruity and warm, giving me the feeling of wanting to lie on a sandy beach in the middle of night as the moonlight would shine on me.

My eyelids unintentionally close and in the middle of my daydreaming, Zayn comes closer to me, taking in my state of being seduced.

“Need to get these clothes off.” He mumbles angrily as his fingers tugs at my trousers, playing with the zipper. “Look at me, Harry.”

I open my eyes, probably giving Zayn a dazed expression; droopy eyes and slack mouth. What gave it away were his soft laughter and his eyes scanning my entire face.

“You’re up for this? You’re going to let me take your clothes off?”

“Yes.”

“Then kick your shoes off.”

I follow his order, easily taking off my boots without having to use much effort. Unexpectedly, Zayn kneels on his knees in front of me. My heart skipped a beat when seeing him get down to the floor for me. The view of his innocent-like eyes looking up at me as he undoes the buttons and zipper of my pants, makes me lose my mind. He’s as though the epitome of an angel doing such sinful things. It’s rare that anyone can looks the way he does and to get away with it.

My pants are pulled down and I had to give some effort so that they could be completely off of my legs. He stood up, coming face to face with me and his hands are on my shoulders. “Your jacket and your shirt…need to be off too.”

I held my arms up at a 90 degree angle, allowing him to pull the sleeves off. The more he touch me, the feelings I have for him becomes intense every second. I’m ecstatic that he has to touch my upper body again, due to taking off my shirt. He’s smiling the whole time of undressing me then the smile disappears when he examines my body.

 The marks and bruises are still on my body. The bite marks on my chin and neck hadn’t healed yet. It’s not painful anymore but I can feel the dull tenderness of them.

Zayn inhales deeply then exhales, looking straight into my eyes to say, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Harry.” And he hugs me, embracing me with his arms around me. This is one of those moments where I can see and feel that Zayn indeed regrets what he has done to me. Instead of showering me with an expensive dinner and an art show, spending money and attempting to distract me with shiny things and semi-rich glamour….instead of the bullshit, he gives me a hug and says that he’s sorry…genuinely.

“What did I do to you? I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean it.” Zayn is still holding onto me, his voice is hushed yet urgent in my ear. He’s suffocating me without even knowing it.

“It’s alright, Zayn, really. I’m fine now. Now that you apologized, I _am_ more than fine.” I tried my best to assure him but he didn’t seem to believe it. He went from seductive and smooth to a clingy pet so quickly; it’s so strange to see how fast Zayn can switch up.

He kisses me again, with his hands now planted on my face and my back is against the dresser. Zayn kisses hard and fast, moving his body towards mine as I back up. The dresser behind me trembles along with our movements; there’s a possibility of the candles falling off and a fire to start somehow.

“Zayn, slow down, please?” I mumbled in the middle of the kiss, feeling eager to make a suggestion that could benefit us both. “We can take this to the bed.” I gasp when Zayn suddenly placed his hands on the back of my thighs, pulling me forward.

“Put your arms on my shoulders…and hold on tightly.” He ordered and I followed, giving him the chance to lift my legs up and to wrap around his hips. I helped, using leverage and my upper body strength to make it easier. My attention is paid to how Zayn and I fit. There’s not too much of a height difference. He may be slimmer but he’s strong. His muscles only show when they’re being used…for a good reason. One of those reasons is to carry me over to my bed so he can fuck the living daylights out of me.

The small stroll to my bed is slow, anticipating and intense. My lips stayed on his lips as he took his time walking to my bed, making sure that he wouldn’t fall or bump into something. It seemed like such a ride to enjoy, despite the short duration. I’m disappointed to be dropped and laid down gently and slowly on my bed but my mood went back up as soon as he climbs on top of me.

My legs open slightly, inviting him to grind against me. The kissing between us continues; it isn’t deeper or gentle. It’s just a nice pace for us to enjoy with minimal effort…like a lazy kiss. Although, I wish that he would kiss me more passionately.

I notice that Zayn has a thing for keeping his hands on my face as he kisses me. It’s as if he desires to keep a hold on me so I wouldn’t leave. He’s not ready to let go either, breathing hard in-between kisses. His eyes are closed and his hips are frantically dry humping on me, teasing me and causing my cock to get hard. His dick is harder, poking at my pelvis. He moans out my name as well at every chance he gets.  The recognition of this feeds to my lust for him. It makes me want him more; it makes me desperate and I begin to whine out small moans and occasionally pushing my hips up to match his rhythm. I have trouble keeping my hands in one place; they seem to have a mind of their own, exploring the soft skin of Zayn’s back, arms, and shoulders. I can feel goose-bumps on his triceps and the muscles flexes from the touch of my hands.

“Love the way you touch me, Harry.” He says quickly then kisses on my chin and throat. I lift my head up higher so he could have better access to marking me again. I don’t mind it this time because this time, he’s being more gentle and loving. “I love the way you moan for me too. So fuckin’ hot. I wanna hear more of it.”

I couldn’t help but to bring out my playful side. “Then do something to make me moan again.”

He stops kissing on my chest and smiles, realizing the little game that I’m playing. “I got you.” He says and he goes down to my lower body, bringing his tongue out to lick at my boxers. It is absolutely teasing and stimulating, obviously strong enough for me to make some sort of sexual noise. My eyelids flutters close and my chest rises. Almost every muscle in my body becomes tense and my fists are grasping on my comforter for dear life.

“More.” I beg.

Zayn complies by biting the hem of my boxers yet being careful on not to pull my pubic hair. I lift my hips up as he pulls down my boxers with his teeth. It’s taking a lot of force, technique and effort but Zayn is a pro at it and I am amazed. My cock is free, lying and twitching below my lower abdomens. He finally uses his hands to pull it down my legs and off, throwing it on the floor.

“When you say ‘more’, do you mean that you want more of my tongue on you?”

“ _Yes,_ Zayn. I want your tongue, your mouth, and you. I want all of you.”

He stops in his tracks before giving me a blowjob. “You want… _all_ of me?”

I nodded, not realizing what I was asking for. I thought he meant the question in an intimate and sexual way. He’s actually asking out of his giving his soul to me; his soul…which may be tainted, a bit sour and molded with negative connotations. He has already given me a preview of it for the past couple of days.

The lust is blinding me so I was more than happy to hear his answer.

“Then all of me, I should give.”

 

 

Somewhere in the middle of the lovemaking, with my legs resting on his shoulders yet his face are only a few inches away, I thought about how much I love the closeness with another person…especially with Zayn. I enjoy Zayn’s cock slowly sliding in and out of me while he looks in my eyes. Despite the dim lighting of the candles, I can clearly see how dilated Zayn’s pupils are. He’s in bliss and I strongly believe that he is feeling the same way that I do for him.

“M’ gonna come inside you, Harry. Do you want me to do that? You want my come, bustin’ inside ya?”

“Fuck, yes. Do it.”

I appreciate Zayn even more, simply because he a _sked_ me if I wanted him do that. I gladly gave my consent.

A few droplets of sweat drips from Zayn’s forehead and lands on my nose while he’s pounding in and out of me, working himself up to come as quickly as possible. I don’t mind it and it doesn’t disgust me. Zayn has done worse than sweat. I encourage him to fuck me harder. I mumble, “I’m yours to fuck. Keep fucking me.” A growl escapes his mouth after I said that. It scares me and turns me on at the same time.

I want to believe that this is all innocent and genuine but in the back of my mind, a little voice says, _Why are you enabling this? You’re digging yourself deeper into something you may never get out of_.

I told that little voice….I just want to be loved.

 

 

“It’s coming, Harry. I’m about to…oh.” The last three strokes were his hardest, basically stabbing inside of me. It doesn’t hurt as much as the time he fucked me without lube. So far, this is the best sex I’ve had with Zayn. And if there’s a next time, I have longing hopes that it will be better, if possible.

I can feel sudden warmth and wetness leaking out of my asshole; I can’t help but to twitch my body and to come just seconds later.

“God…finally.” I mutter, feeling the sensitivity from both my asshole and softening cock. Zayn pulls out then plops down to lie besides me.

“I know, right?” He’s breathing hard and laughing at the same time. Witnessing this makes him come off a child who just discovered the taste of candy for the first time. It makes me smile and to giggle along with him, relishing our intimacy even more. I’ve never seen him in this state; being cuddly and cute after sex. “I really enjoyed that.”  Zayn comments then he begin fanning himself with his right hand, only to be comical.

“Me too.” My eyelids are blinking slowly and perhaps my dimples are showing as I smile at my exhausted lover. I’m sure that my hair looks like a wild and curly mess…but that doesn’t matter. Zayn is here with me and he’s being a better person to me.

“Why do you look like a male version of a Lolita right now? Shit.” Zayn bites his bottom lip as his eyes flicks up and down to study my face.

“Oh, do I?” I ask in a soft voice, borderline sounding like a female but I’m only teasing him.

His jaw clenches as he rolls his eyes. “Harry, don’t. You’ll get me hard again and I won’t be able to apologize for what I would do to you.” He turns his body to face me then kisses my lips as tender as he could. It was short and sweet, leaving me wanting more when he had stopped. He gets up from my bed, attempting to find his pants.

“What are you doing?” I ask, feeling confused because I expected Zayn to stay for the night.

“I’m going home.” He responded passively, quickly putting on his pants then tries to find his shirt.

I don’t want to whine or to nag but… “You’re not going to stay? I want you to stay here. Please, Zayn?”

He scoffed, putting on his shirt. “What? No. Fuck that.” Then he walks out of my bedroom, leaving me alone in shocked silence.

It’s taking me a moment to process what Zayn said and how he said it. That asshole part of him, has somehow came back and I refuse to have my feelings hurt at the end of this night. Despite his come squishing inside of me and my muscles being sore, I jump up from my bed to run after him.

“Zayn?! Don’t leave! _Why_ are you leaving? Especially now? After what we just shared?!”

I catch him in the foyer, bending down to the floor to pick up his jacket. He puts it on, being ready to leave. “Goodness, shut up and go back to bed. We’re done for tonight, okay? Don’t be fucking clingy.”

I don’t care about the fact that I’m naked right now and is about to go on a rant. I’m genuinely upset and I deserve to know his reason for leaving.

“Clingy? _I’m_ clingy? I’m not the one who forced myself on you. I’m not the one who followed you home. Tell me why you’re leaving me. We just shared such a special moment together and it was going so great, Zayn. It could have been greater if you hadn’t fucking got up and put your fucking clothes on! Do you know how that make me feel? It makes me feel _used._ It feels like you don’t care about me.”

His feet stomp on my floor as he approaches me with a glare, basically squaring up to my face. “BECAUSE I FUCKING DON’T!”

 

I almost cried right then but I’m trying my best not to.

“So…do me a favor and shut the fuck up…and go back to your bed then have a fucking good night.” He commands to me while pointing his finger at me. I don’t say anything and I can’t think because I’m too busy trying not to cry.

He turns his back to me….again, walking to my front door to leave. The door slams and I felt immediate relief and the freedom to finally express myself. My only expression is my tears falling.


	11. Silence Is The Loudest Sound of All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Shit..

_2:45 A.M_

I lie in my bed; a bed that was once occupied with warmth, and fulfilled of two bodies, just merely a few hours ago. In this saddening moment, I lie in this bed, alone. My limbs spread out on this bed with creased and tainted sheets; the comforter is on the verge of falling off of the bed since it was repeatedly pushed back to the edge by the movement of Zayn’s feet. I lie in the bed and I memorize of the very recent events, rapidly becoming overwhelmed with such a feeling that I cannot describe. You meet someone and you like certain parts of them; but there are parts of them that you do not like….so you would feel sort of stuck in the middle. You feel torn. Confused.

That’s the feeling.

It’s not a pleasant feeling to deal with, because it clouds your actual judgment and your true desires. Instead of knowing exactly what to do, you’re left with options that do and don’t benefit you at the end of the day.

To me, it feels like a mental contract.

 

I want to let go of my thoughts; they are too painful for me to handle and too hard for me to comprehend so I attempt an outlet to distract myself. One has to think of the good stuff in order to subside the negativity. The golden date, the kiss by my car, the sex, all comes back to my mind. Thinking about these things has caused me to turn on my right side and to dip my arms under the pillow that Zayn has laid his head on. I grasp the pillow, sniffing the faint smell of his cologne. It could possibly be Prada or Polo but it smells so good and manly; my body tenses and my breath shudders from knowing that Zayn has left his scent behind. Nothing drives the human soul more than a masculine scent, making one to wonder on how to keep that certain presence forever. I say to myself in this very moment, what do I have to do….to keep his scent, his partial positivity and his smile under the dim lights….how do I transfer such a man into a permanent yet vital fixture?

“Aah, God.” I let out a whimper, subconsciously grinding my body against the mattress and rubs my face against the pillow.

He left his scent, perhaps a few strands of his hair and drops of perspiration on this bed…my bed. He left some things that may be seen as physical traces. In my eyes, they’re good memories. They are memories of the connection that he and I shared in this bed.

So, I lie in this bed and I want to lie in it forever.

 

 

_4:42_ _A.M._

On some nights, I would wake up at random times, barely opening my eyes then to fall back to sleep. This time feels different. A strange sound emitted from the hallway and it was loud enough to wake me up. I thought that I heard footsteps and maybe a voice, but I shook it off and assumed that the source of the sounds is the neighbors. Falling asleep again wasn’t difficult.

 

 

On this Monday morning, I wake up with an ache type of sensation in my eyes and I feel heavily fatigued. The first thing that I do is to look at the time from my digital alarm clock.

_6:08 A.M_

Hatred is not enough for me to express about having to wake up early on the week days for work. I’m obligated to get up, to make breakfast, to shower, to dress properly, and then to leave so I could avoid traffic, and the commute to work is nearly forty minutes away.

The first face that I always see is the receptionist’s. Christina, who is usually quiet and complying but secretly hates her job. She gets paid above the minimum wage yet I don’t blame her for her dislike to complete a position that requires the lack one’s own control and opinion. Myself, couldn’t imagine following anyone’s orders, especially over five people that would be above me. If I have to follow anyone, it’s only Nick. He may be my friend but he’s also my supervisor, controlling the small yet spacious building, a handful group of employees including me, but he doesn’t own everything. He’s just a damn good manager. The real root of it all is Sherman Shaya; owner of clothing stores targeted at teens and young adults but specifically dedicated to the LBGTA community.

My job is to sell whatever products that Shaya comes up with, through social media and in visual retail. I love my job but sometimes, it is hard to stay with it because almost every five minutes, not literally but metaphorically, there’s a new trend rising up. First, it’s “twerking” then there’s four more dance crazes. There’s the selfie stick and the selfie challenges. Lips challenges, booty challenge and outlandish games created by popular people on Vine.

It’s not easy to keep up and to pick a trend in order to sell to old and new customers.

“Hey, Chris. Any news?” I stopped by Christina’s large desk, just to be friendly. On a daily basis, I say something to her or ask her a question so she won’t feel excluded. Her small and pale, green eyes looks up at me, afraid at first but then becomes relieved that it’s me.

“Oh, Harry, hey. Not much has changed except for the fact that Shaya wants to advertise through LOGO. He left a few memorandums for you upstairs in your office. Nick wants to see you _sooo_ badly and uh, what else…”

Christina looks down at a piece of white paper with a few words scribbled on it. “Oh, right. Some random guy has called for you this morning, wanting to know if you’ve made it to work safely. It was a bit weird. Weird conversation.”

My heart stopped…only for a second because I am assuming the worst.

I kept my voice calm and my eyes to wander less so that my anxiety won’t show externally. “Who? What’s his name?”

She looked down at the paper again then returned her eyes back at me. “It’s a, uh, Zayn Malik, I believe.”

I must have the most frightened expression on my face since Christina is slightly panicking from my reaction. “Harry? What’s wrong?” She began to stand and looked into my eyes for validation. “Harry….who is that guy?

For a moment, everything had stopped. Time is frozen and the world is on pause. I am on the opposite. Meanwhile, I take this moment to think about my answer to Christina’s question. I want to be honest but what’s the point? What’s the point of her knowing the truth?

The world is back on play. Time continues and the kinetic energy of all potential movement is restored.

“No one. He’s nobody. Thanks for letting me know.” I left the conversation at that, rudely leaving her behind, and walk towards the elevator. My index finger presses the ‘up’ button at a rapid pace and I can feel my anxiety acting up.

Zayn has left Christina’s mouth and somehow has crawled back in my mind. It’s becoming to a point where he isn’t an easy subject to avoid under almost any circumstance. Wherever I go, he’s there, physically or not. He’s there, no matter what mood I am in. A quick thought of his touch or the verbal utter of his name could either amplify or diminish my mood.

Why does this man affect me so much already?

The doors of the elevator finally open, revealing Nick, who stands in the corner, looking down at a cell phone in his hand. He’s dressed up in a navy blue suit, also wearing some sort of colourful and flamboyant shirt underneath the suit. I notice that his hair is different. It’s even more trimmed on the sides and the top of his hair is higher than usual. He looked up from his phone and the frown on his face disappears as soon as he saw me.

“Harry! _Where have you been_? You didn’t text me back. I told you that I had something to tell you in the first place.”

He reaches out to me, grasping on my arm to drag me into the elevator. I’m mortified by his action and at the tone of his voice. Whatever that he needs to tell me…..sounds pretty severe. I’m hoping that it is not work-related because one of the last things that I need now is to be fired or laid off or knocked down in rankings.

The doors closes immediately then Nick presses a button that has the number of three on it.

“I met the love of my life.”

Nick has said it out loud in a certain way; in a way as if it’s a normal thing to go through. Going through puberty is normal. Having a vice is normal. Gaining a talent is normal. Meeting a person and realizing the possibility that they could make or break your heart…is not normal. It’s not normal, in my eyes.

“And you know what the best part is? I didn’t fuck him. Not even a ‘hello, how ya doin’ to the crotch, on both parties, may I add.”

“Oh, my god, Nick.” He starts giggling like a stoner as the elevator moves up. I shook my head at him, playfully scolding him. “You’re a nympho, you know that?”

He scoffs, lifting both eyebrows. “That’s not fair. My doctor said that it’s a serious condition. I have to treat it at all times, with as many guys as I want. But besides _that_ , why didn’t you text me back this weekend? Something must’ve happened.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence since I didn’t respond to Nick’s question immediately. I want to avoid it but Nick isn’t easy to avoid.

“Now, I’m not assuming or saying anything but I’m _just_ saying….you know, we text on a daily basis, regardless of anything. We’ve been friends for so long and we text every-damn-day. _But….._ but this weekend? Nothing. So, something….something obviously happened.”

Nick just read me and everything like a goddamn opened book. He’s watching me being frozen like a statue.

“You’re okay, Harry?”

I force a smile to Nick, just like I forced myself to go on that date and to be intimate with Zayn. I force this pitiful smile, just like I force myself to wake up in the morning so I could do my job. Everything that I have been through for the past few days, I discover that forcing a smile is one of the hardest things to do in life.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I just…forgot. Remember that I told you, I was going to Liam’s birthday party? I had too much to drink and uh, I had a nasty hangover. Didn’t really feel like…doing much, you know?”

If that isn’t a lousy excuse, then I don’t know what is. Nick is employed as the manager for some good reasons. He’s reliable and responsible. He is an organized leader, knowing what call to make when a stressful situation comes up. He isn’t _stupid_. But best of all, he’s a people person which make him good at reading any person that he meets and to keep track of their personality. I am aware that Nick already doesn’t believe me. He has called me out on my bullshit several times before but for the first time ever, he’s actually allowing me to get away with it.

Nick ends the conversation with, “Okay, yeah. I get it.”

The elevator stops, and the doors opens, disclosing the third floor. Nick exits calmly and with ease, verbally wishing a good day to me but that involuntary tension still lingers in the air and it continues to walk with me, even though he and I went our separate ways; considering the fact that my office is on the opposite side from his office.

_That_ was not how I wanted our interaction to go, since we didn’t speak for an entire weekend. I begin to feel shitty and drained; I haven’t even started work yet.

Reading the memorandums didn’t take as long as I thought it would. Shaya wants me to be involved in the LOGO deal, due to his knowledge of my sexual orientation. I decide to open up my email account on Google so that I can write and send a confirmation to Shaya. When one is to log on an email account, usually the inbox would be on automatic display. So I log into my account and the first words that I can see is…

_Zayn Malik wants to be friends…._

Zayn added me on Facebook. Not only that he would be there physically, or his name would be spoken, or the thought of him would entice me but I also have to find him in my fucking email. I click on a new tab, in order to access my Facebook account. I have a few messages, notifications and of course, some friend requests. The very first one is Zayn. My finger hovers over the button that could determine whether I would be ‘friends’ with Zayn or not.

I say in my head, _I need a sign. I need a reason for why I should include this man in a tiny part of my life via social media._ It seems ridiculous and childish but it makes sense for me. Perhaps I’m a ridiculous person. _God, give me a fucking sign._

About twenty seconds passes and I am about to give up, feeling _truly_ ridiculous for asking a sign from God about a man who probably hates my guts. Just when I’m so close to denying his friendship, my phone buzzes a few times in my pants’ pocket. I pull it out, viewing the screen so I can whose name or number that has texted me.

It’s Zayn. I open his message and read silently.

_Can we talk? We need to have a talk…pls._

I took that as a sign from God and instantly accept his friendship. Stupid me. But I am _so_ intrigued in this man and he’s hard to resist. But…I had not responded just yet. Instead, I sit in my chair for the oncoming long hours, working yet ignoring Zayn because if I’m going to play _this game_ with him, then I am determined to _win_.


End file.
